After a thousand years had passed, Sūcī’s grandfather appeared, his voice descending from the sky: “Daughter, choose a boon.” Sūcī, who at that time possessed only the most subtle form of life, lacking all the organs of action, did not reply aloud. Instead, she turned her awareness inward and reflected in silence. Within herself, Sūcī thought, “I am fulfilled and free from doubt; what need have I for a boon? Let me rest in peace, content and tranquil. All that is to be known, I have known. The web of doubts is stilled, my discernment has blossomed—what else could I desire? I am established just as I am. Having abandoned even the subtle distinctions between truth and untruth, what use have I for anything more? For so long, I was troubled by lack of discernment, like a young girl ensnared by her own imagination. Now, through my own contemplation, I am at peace. What purpose could imagined objects of desire or aversion serve for me?” Observing Sūcī, who stood silent and steadfast, devoid of the organs of action yet resolute in her purpose, the blessed Brahmā beheld her state. With a mind clear and free from passion, he spoke again: “Daughter, choose a boon for yourself and remain on earth for a time. After you have enjoyed life’s pleasures, you will attain the supreme state; this is the firm decree of destiny, whose continuity is unbroken. By your austerity, may your noble resolve bear fruit. Become once more that mighty demoness of the snowy forest from whom you were previously separated, when you took the form of a watery body—just as a seed becomes a great tree, O daughter. You will again unite with that body, now in the form of a seed; with it, you will rejoice, like a creeper delighting in the state of a new sprout. “Because you are known to be free from affliction, you will not cause harm in the world. Inwardly pure, your airs peaceful, you will be like a cluster of autumn clouds. Absorbed in meditation, if ever you manifest outwardly, you will become the very embodiment of meditation on the Self in all beings. You will be the support of concentration rooted in practical activity, and, like the wind, you will move subtly within the body. Then, daughter, you will become an opponent, restraining the impulses of your own actions; by rightful means, you will inflict suffering upon beings for the sake of curbing their misconduct. You will act in accordance with justice in the world, yet you will also obstruct justice; as a jīvanmukta, liberated while embodied, you will be guarded solely by your own discernment.” Having spoken thus from the sky, the deity departed. Sūcī reflected, “Let this be mine.” In the subtle grasp of the lotus-born Brahmā’s words, what place is there for passion or dispassion? Thus, a gentle reflection arose within her mind. Suddenly, there appeared first a span, then a hand, then a branch, and then a garland of clouds. Shoots and tendrils swiftly sprang forth, shining in an instant, like the sequence of sprouts from a wish-fulfilling tree. The subtle elements, undiminished in power, emerged from her body, followed by the sense organs; just as flowers bloom all around the seed of the wish-fulfilling tree, so too did these faculties appear, though previously concealed. Thus, Sūcī became Karkaṭī, the demoness, once again. Subtle at first, she grew into her gross form, like a streak of cloud thickening in the rainy season. Having regained her own form, she felt a measure of delight; but through her realization, she cast off the pride of the great demon as one discards a cloak. There she remained in deep meditation, seated in the bound lotus posture, relying on pure awareness, unmoved as a mountain peak. After six months, through the power of meditation, she attained awakening—like a peacock responding with joy to the thunder of monsoon clouds. Awakened, her awareness turned outward and she became absorbed in hunger, for so long as life endures, this nature of the body does not cease. She pondered, “What should I consume?” Reflecting deeply, she resolved, “I must not take what belongs to another or what is not rightfully mine. That which is condemned by the noble, or not justly acquired—for such food, death itself would be preferable for embodied beings. If I abandon this body without obtaining what is rightfully earned, I shall not eat anything unjustly; for wealth enjoyed without justice becomes impure. What is the use of consuming what is not obtained in accordance with the ways of the world? For me, there is no reason either for living or for dying. Indeed, I was only mind, deluded by the body and its like; that delusion has been stilled by my own awareness—so where is the seer and the seen, body and non-body?” Established in this silence, Karkaṭī heard a voice from the sky, spoken by the wind, pleased with her renunciation of the demon-nature: “Go, Karkaṭī, and awaken the deluded with knowledge; for the very nature of the great is to rescue the ignorant. But if, even after being instructed by you, someone does not attain understanding, he is born only for his own destruction, and it is proper for you to consume him.” Hearing these words, Karkaṭī replied softly, “I am favored by you.” Rising from the mountain peak, she slowly descended. Swiftly she crossed the uplands and made her way to the edge of the valley, entering the settlement of the Kirata people at the mountain’s foot. There she found abundant food, livestock, crowds of people, wealth, crops, medicinal herbs, meat, endless roots, drinks, grains, deer, insects, birds, and more besides. It was a fine land, nestled at the feet of the snowy mountains, resembling a moving, melting mountain of collyrium. Then, as night fell, the night-stalker set out on a path thick with deep, dense darkness. In the Kirata settlement, the night became pitch-dark, as if the very lumps of darkness could be grasped by hand. The sky was covered with dark, moonless clouds, swirling in circles like a mass of tamala forests smeared with lampblack.